


The Golden Rule

by onomatopizzazz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, No Plot for Miles, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onomatopizzazz/pseuds/onomatopizzazz
Summary: There's never any conversation. Not anymore.





	

There's never any conversation, not anymore.

76 had tried to speak to Reyes before, to Reaper, his mind corrected. They aren't Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes anymore. Those men died in the explosion, the killing blow for Overwatch. They carry the memories like ghosts, apparitions of a history they share. That's what they are now, hateful revenants trying to do something with the vestiges of their past lives.

He's already exhausted, physically and mentally, when they finally corner each other in the bowels of King’s Row. There are questions, but 76 is tired of the evasive, circular answers he gets from the black clad man (can Reaper even be called a man anymore).

The adrenaline that's been keeping him going, burning up his veins with the will to survive, is starting to run dry. Reaper, to 76’s extreme irritation, looks as fresh as a daisy. Both of them are staring at each other down the barrels of their guns. 76 is considering the possibility of putting a pulse round right through the eyehole of Reaper’s incredibly tacky mask when he hears something unexpected. It's a deep, torn up sound, but still unmistakeable.

Reaper is laughing.

“Starting to feel your age, Jack?” That voice, rough as coarse sandpaper and dripping with malice, grinds through his ears and scrapes right down to his bones. 76 is certain Reaper can see the way his brow crunches into deeper lines above the edge of his mask. The motion squishes against the sweat damp padding. He curses under his breath.

“I ain't Jack anymore.” That name sounds foreign to him now; so much time has passed since anyone has called him as such. He's dissociated himself from that identity, if not totally from the ideals of a dead man.

“Not even jack shit.” Reaper laughs lowly at his own joke and 76 feels a misplaced pang of nostalgia. There's a fleeting moment where he misses the fondness that used to run deep in Gabriel’s voice, the days they used to trade good natured jabs. It's hollowed out now, left gutted by everything that happened between them.

“Death doesn't absolve you from your sins.” The other man continues.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

They're starting to circle each other now like two jungle cats; anticipation crackles in 76’s nerves. With his body cooling now, he can feel every sweat slick place, feel the aches and pains of years despite the strength and speed afforded by his augments. Underneath his calm front, 76’s mind whirs. At this close of quarters, Reaper has the advantage. He could blow 76 away with a well placed shot. So why hasn't he?

“Gabriel--,” his pulse rifle lowers by only a scant millimeter, but that’s all it takes. Reaper hits him like a freight train and the conversation is over. Their guns clatter to the ground, the aggression not forgotten but redirected. The brutal tips of Reaper’s gloves are tearing up his jacket as his shoulder blades connect with the wall, the back of his head nearly cracking open on the unforgiving steel.

If Reaper means to speak or to even let 76 say his piece, he doesn't indicate as much. That ghoulish mask is hovering conspicuously close to his own. 76 can feel more than see the hot, smoky breath rolling through the gaps. 

There's questions, there's always questions, but he’s accepted that he won't get answers. He won't know how Reaper, how Reyes survived the blast, if he truly did. He won't know how Reyes became Reaper, how he became this vengeful ghost from his past. He won't know if perhaps Talon had gotten to Reyes well before their little quarrel blew up the Swiss headquarters, the same way they'd gotten to Amelie.

And with Reaper’s knee roughly pushing his legs apart, the lack of answers becomes decidedly less important. He doesn't get much time to enjoy or even be shocked by the contacts. Strong hands drag him into a dark room of the industrial complex; Reaper never lets them stay in the light when they do this--whatever this is. Is it nostalgia? Is it some kind of vengeance? 76 knows it's not forgiveness, not with the way Reaper catches him up against the wall again, crowding him as a method of control rather than an expression of desire. The expression is there though, because 76 can feel the firmness grinding against his hip as Reaper crushes him against the wall.

76 doesn't comment, they never say anything when this happens. He isn't sure why, Gabriel had always been a smartass when he was alive and even more so once he was ‘dead’. The silence is a torture and a blessing. He wants to ask, he wants to know the answers to a million burning questions, but he can't bring himself to disrupt the moment as their hands battle each other to find skin. Even with all their training, there's some things they'll never be graceful about.

Reaper wins out eventually, his body more solidly built than 76’s, who's been living on the fringes of society for years now rather than the secret and expensive charity of Talon. He spins 76 around so fast that it nearly gives the old soldier vertigo, slamming his front against the wall with renewed anger, as though he's frustrated and impatient. At some point outside of 76’s perception, Reaper had yanked off one of his gloves, because calloused fingers roughly drag the white haired soldier’s mask down. The motion nearly tears his nose off, but he doesn't get time to think about the pain before those fingers are pushing through his lips and against his tongue. 

There's a little bit of trust in the gesture, or perhaps Reaper thinks 76 doesn't have it in him to bite a man’s fingers off. The thought briefly crosses his mind, as do a thousand other violent scenarios, but instead he sucks obediently. The tang of salty sweat and the musk of gunpowder fill his mouth and nose, and he earns an encouraging, baritone hum for his effort. He isn't even thinking about his own needs until the assassin’s other hand roughly grabs him between the legs, also graciously void of claws as his now straining erection is massaged through the coarse cloth. 76 sucks in a surprised breath through his nose, instinctively closing his jaws around the fingers still pressed into his mouth. He isn't even fully aware of it until he hears a growl behind him, the hand on his crotch gripping harder in a way that almost makes him pant. Yet, 76 doesn't relent. In retaliation, Reaper jams his fingers further in, until the soldier can feel the last knuckles pushing against his lips, the press against his tongue threatening to gag him.

A different kind of electrical heat is cycling through him now, fed by the pressure of a hard body against his back, a thick bulge starting to rut against his ass as a portent of things to come. 76 throws his hips into the other man’s with a snarl, wordlessly telling Reaper to get on with it. What happens next isn't unexpected as the fingers withdraw from his mouth with a slick pop. In the dark and with his visor hanging uselessly against his chest, he can only feel as the hand settles around the back of his neck. The side of his face collides with the metal wall with enough force to make his bones creak, a dull thud reverberating through his skull as Reaper pins him there. The angle is a little awkward, but 76 can't seem to care as the hand that'd been groping him instead sets itself to yanking his pants open.

Reaper trades his hands off, bracing a forearm across the back of 76’s shoulders (like he was going anywhere) as his spit slick fingers brush through the cleft of his ass before finding his hole. All the military discipline in the world wouldn't make it any easier for him to breathe as one thick finger pushes through the ring of muscle. The spit is adequate, but only just so. 76 felt if he ever deigned to carry lube for these sporadic and unpredictable encounters, he might as well crawl back in his grave because he'd be well and truly done for.

Pride is continuing to cost him, he reflects as Reaper’s second finger drags a little against his inner walls and draws a hiss through his teeth. There's a thoughtful hum somewhere behind him, a deep and rumbling noise that agitates 76’s insecurities about the whole situation. Against his better judgment, he starts to push against the arm holding him in place, only to get forcefully slammed back into the wall.

“Hold.” It's a single syllable, spoken so sternly that it hits 76 in the back of the head just like a bullet. Anticipation pins him to the wall as Reaper’s arm leaves him. The rustling, jangling sounds are inconclusive, and he wants to turn around, to see what Reaper is up to back there. Yet he doesn't, 76 does as he was told, keeping his face and shoulders pressed against the cool metal of the wall, slowly drawing the warmth out of him just like the wraith at his back.

Whatever he’s doing, he's taking his time. 76 wants to writhe, squirm on the fingers still buried in his ass, but he doesn't. He's not so weak that he'd deign to beg for release from a madman like Reaper, even if he isn't strong enough to resist. He's just about to snarl that he'll get off by himself when he hears a telltale pop.

The cool sensation of lube drips down onto his hole and the fingers still wedged inside him before Reapers starts working it in, an uncharacteristic display of generosity. Uncertainty spins in 76’s mind, but he can't get a finger on Reaper’s angle when Reaper’s finger is angling into him and hitting the spot that makes him shudder out a breath. His flagging erection throbs with fresh interest as Reaper’s fingers drive into his prostate again and again, scissoring to stretch him as they withdraw.

76 lets out whisper soft moan, not more than a choked off whimper. It's the closest he’ll ever get to begging and Reaper knows that. 76 is graceful when Reaper doesn't torture him further. It's not like they ever have a lot of time The fingers disappear, one of those cold hands settling on his hip while the other aligns their bodies. 76 can't quite swallow the absolutely wretched sob that surges up out of somewhere deep in his chest when the other man finally pushes into him. It's not a gradual buildup, just a solid and singular push that feels like being run through. The burn of being somewhat underprepared mixes with the pleasure of being filled, with Reaper settled inside him up to the hilt.

He only gets a moment’s reprieve before the other man starts to move, immediately setting a punishing pace that's as much about displaying his power as it is about giving pleasure. They're still fully clothed, and 76 can feel the belts on Reaper’s chest digging into his back on each powerful thrust, each movement practically pushing him up onto the balls of his feet. Sandwiched between the wall and the rock solid body behind him, there's nowhere to go. 76 can only brace himself and try his best to roll his hips back into each brutal motion. His hands scrabble against the wall, trying to find leverage, but Reaper gathers up his wrists to pin them above his head.

Relieved of any control, 76 can only pant helplessly as he's penetrated over and over again. Reaper’s other hand is roving over him, fingers playing at pushing under his shirt before diving down the front of his pants to wrap around his weeping dick, dragging it out. A truncated moan gets stuck in 76’s throat, trapped behind his teeth as he gnashes them, biting his own lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Shhh.” It's a soft and gentle noise, like the Talon agent is trying to soothe a wounded dog even as his hand cinches tighter around 76’s wrists, threatening to crush bone. The rough tug on his cock is juxtaposed strangely with the smooth glide of Reaper inside him, the tight grip relinquishing into a gentle hold. The threat is still present, but lying hidden under the haze of pleasure.

76 knows his will is truly defeated when he feels soft lips instead of a hard mask against the side of his neck. Reaper is mouthing at him through the cloth, teeth testing themselves on the curve of his jaw as Reaper’s fingers close tight around the head of his dick, his own thick cock ramming into 76 as though he intended to split him open. It's all too much; it's not enough. Breathing doesn't mean anything now. No matter how much air he gets in, he still feels like he's suffocating, surrounded by Reaper, by Gabriel.

The old soldier murmurs incoherently, part curses, part threats, and part raw noise. Reaper’s answering chuckle morphs into a guttural sound as 76’s body starts to clench around him with the beginning of climax. His release splatters on the wall, dripping over Reaper’s fingers as he strokes him through it. The ghoulish assassin growls, teeth sinking hard into the column of 76’s neck as he spills inside.

When the other man finally withdraws, 76 sinks to his knees like a marionette cut from its strings. It's a pathetic and humiliating thing to be so weak that he can't stand on his own feet, but after a day of hard combat and a round of harder fucking, standing is beyond him. Still, super soldier serums be praised. It doesn't take him long to wobble back up with the help of the wall. 

When 76 turns around, his eyes adjusted to the dark, Reaper is already put back together with gloves and mask in their rightful places. He can't help be a little gobsmacked when Reaper’s head cants just so, wordlessly condemning his disheveled state. The old soldier yanks the mask back onto his scarred face to hide the burn in his cheeks.

“Gabriel--” Again, he's cut off as Reaper raises a finger in the universal signal for be quiet.

“Silence is golden, Jack.” And with that, the man seemingly dissolves into a haze of smoke, disappearing into the darkness.


End file.
